Hello, Distant Traveler
by Just a Hello
Summary: They said she's the savior of their world. Thrown into another dimension, Buffy Summers, must come to terms with her involvement in freeing Londres, a parrallel Earth. She meets a ragtag group of freedom fighters who tells her she's their last chance. AU


**Hello, Distant Traveler…**

**Author Note. **Hello, this is a 'as we go' kind of story. Its Alternate-universe, but there's still fun-filled demons and vampires scurrying about. Feel free to give me any comments, suggestions—anything. I'm always open to ideas, since usually I need something to jump start my creativity. This is just a 'teaser', which is why it's so bloody short—the rest of the story will be written in third person (not omniscient)—from Buffy's perspective. I'm not a great writer, but I like to write. So any corrections are also welcome. I have a tendency of adding in 'U's that aren't needed; colour, minour, honour, it's an odd habit I've picked up.

**Summary.** Borne and raised in suburban California—Buffy Summers was your average high-school girl, who was looking at a bright future, with loving parents, an annoying little sister, and a broad range of opportunities. Asleep one night in her bed, thinking of Senior-prom just a week away—she falls asleep, a smile on her lips. Only to wake in a world that isn't her own—desert as far as the eye can see, dual suns blazing high in the sky. And she can't find her way home. Meeting up with a rag-tag set of freedom fighters, who are convinced that she's the solution to the darkness. For, when the sun sets, no one is safe. Is Buffy the answer they've been looking for?—a prophecy says she is to fight the darkness for love.

**Section one; Ante Up. (****January, 17th — Interstate 5) **

We've been at this a long time. Who knows what'll happen next. A good-friend of mine says that life is a deck of cards—each person gets drawn a hand, and it seems like each one of us is playing poker against one another. You might be friends with the people at the table, you might share a drink with the person across from you—but in the end, only one of you can win the hand. Sure, you can exchange a card or two—hope for a better draw, but some people. They hold out. They take that hand of theirs—and they run with it.

I'm not a poker player—I put my cards face down on the table, and don't even look. Some are gifted with poker faces—I never was. Sometimes I worry if my hand if good enough to take the prize—shovel those chips in my direction. But then I look around—and I realize I'm not playing poker, not even a game. This is life—this is more complicated than the statistics of the draw. This would be so much easier if it was a game. I'm standing on the front lawn to the end of the world, and I'm wondering if it'll be enough.

A hand clasps over my shoulder, and a grin crosses my lips—I can't help it, it feels so right to smile when I feel the warmth of their hand. My own hand raises—without even my knowledge to cover the hand on my shoulder. It's almost dark again—and we're about to move out. Its not safe to stay during the night; they all told me that. I didn't believe them at first; but let's just say. I do now. Closing my eyes, I lower my head and roll my shoulders back, I hear the voice I always long to hear from, behind me.

"Come'n," There was a definite smile in those words, "We have to be getting out of here,"

And then that hand was gone—I was left alone in the dark that I was told I'm meant to stop. Can someone know their destiny before it happens? Can life really work without even an inference of free will? I worry sometimes if I'm being set up for some cosmic joke—so that the heavens can point down and laugh at how stupid I was for believing that I could do something that no one else could. I was, what was meant to stand between humanity, and the darkness; I am the savoir of the world. A human nightlight, really.

Buses were meant for children on their way to school; the faux-leather seats were practically designed for the scribbling of high-school kids and their urges for mediocre vandalism. Now, this dull-yellow school bus was the only place I felt safe. Along the way, I had met a lot of people that had become my second family. They were more than friends—I had friends back home. Cheerleaders, and jocks—but they didn't know what it was like to bleed. To risk your life for something. They were too concerned about their BMWs and what colour nail polish was in style—I won't lie. I used to believe that too. But not anymore—my jeans are torn and dirty, my shirt is a size too big and belongs to someone else. But I didn't care—I smiled, and the faces around me, my family, smiled back at me.

Outside the window is a desert that southern California just didn't have—it wasn't the cactus filled wasteland of billowing sand I saw in the Indiana Jones movies. It was solemn and missing something—the ground was dusty but hard and cracked. Large fissures broke the ground to either side of this abandoned highway, it looked like what someone might think hell should look like. Okay, maybe if you added a few towering infernos of fire.

"What're you thinking about?" Whispered a whispering voice just beside my ear. Their breath filtering across the exposed skin of my neck, making me shiver—despite the warmth that was given from the body wrapped around me. I can feel a Blundstone boot pressing into my thigh, as in continued to look out the window, at that unforgiving darkness. Smiling at the feeling of skilled fingers trailing over my stomach, under my shirt.

"Not much," I said, while looking back over my shoulder—it was dark, so I couldn't see much, but a faint outline, "Just general thoughtfulness, and how I could really go for a smoothie right now," A chuckle, as I was held tighter—you know, if it wasn't the end of the world. I could really get used to this. Wait, scratch that. Even if it is the end of the world, I still love this. I find myself msiling as I look back out the window, its funny how even after all that's happened. I can still find something to smile about.

We've been at this a long time. Who knows what'll happen next—not me for sure. They tell me I'm the savior of their world—when I'm not even from it. They tell me I'm someone unique, someone special—when I'm just your average high-school student. I should be worried about homework, and teachers—and, the biggest thing that's going on in my life right now. Senior prom. But I'm not, everything seems so small now—in comparison. I lean back and those strong arms encircle, me pulling me back tight into that warm body. I feel safe—whatever happens now, I don't know if I'll be ready for it. But I know I won't be standing alone.

A good-friend of mine says that life is a deck of cards—and I think it's about time, to see what I drew.


End file.
